Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
by Eyrir Mal
Summary: "Daniel, what do we do?" She is looking to me for an answer that I do not have. Slowly, I close the distance between us. She takes my hand, laying it against her flat belly. "Together," she says. It is such a simple thing- over before it was even begun. Missing scene from "Unending." Mild spoilers. Warnings: Ideologically sensitive material.


**A/N: **MILD SPOILERS!An exploration of the consolation scene between Daniel and Vala during "Unending." The characters and setting all belong to their respective owners.

**Have You Ever Seen the Rain?**

It's been over a year since this nightmare began. I hadn't realized how much it had affected me over the past years- waking each morning to an empty bed. I find myself reaching for her, even now, even though I know she is there and will always be there, I still grope for her hand in the darkness. She is all I have now, all I live for. I would do anything for her… anything.

It's her eyes I notice first. She scared; terrified actually. I wonder what could have frightened her so badly.

"I'm pregnant," she whispers to me.

Her voice is breaking, so thick with emotion she can hardly draw breath. My heart leaps in my chest as I reach for her, but my hands stop halfway there, repulsion flooding through me. Pregnant. She is pregnant with my child. The first child born in space.

We stand face to face, the air crackling between us. Her lips tremble as a myriad of emotions distorts her expression. Elation, satisfaction, expectancy, anger, sadness, and over it all a crippling fear that I can almost smell.

"Daniel, _what do we do?_"

She is looking to me for a resolution, for an answer that I do not have.

"We don't have supplies," I say, my scientific mind taking over; the alternative is too painful right now. Disbelief blooms in her eyes, her teeth working at her lower lip.

"We could figure something out…" She's trying to sound confident, but she can't even convince herself.

"How?" I say. "Tell me how and we'll try, I promise." My sincerity almost matches my self-loathing.

She shakes her head, not wanting to accept the truth that is blooming in her heart. She has already lost one child against her will and now she is being forced to give up yet another, this time by her own hand. I finally close the distance between us, clutching her shoulders to keep myself steady. I swallow, forcing the tears down as I cup her cheek.

"I'll do it," I offer, but she shakes her head.

She takes my hand in hers, laying it against her flat belly. "Together."

Thor's hologram was disturbingly helpful in fulfilling my request. I look down at the tiny pill in my hand and I can't but feel with mild relief, thinking, _it is such a simple thing_. And yet my stomach is painfully hollow, a result of the dry heaves that have been wracking my body since the night before. She doesn't know this; doesn't know just how much this hurts me; how deep it cuts.

I lay it in her hand, that tiny speck of blue, and she lifts it to her mouth, a rush of water washing it away, out of sight. She swallows several times, like it won't go down, and I worry that she might vomit it back up, but then she stills, her breath evening out. She looks up at me, her lips twisting in a mockery of good humor, but her eyes are dead.

It happens in the middle of the night. I wake to hear her crying, her voice echoing in the tiny bathroom. I lay unmoving in the bed, debating whether I should go to her. After a while she comes back, sliding into bed like it was all normal routine. She lies on her side, as far away from me as she can, nearly falling off the edge. I roll over and touch her shoulder, but she flinches away and it hits me like a punch in the gut.

"Valla."

A half choked sob escapes from her and she stumbles out of bed. I catch her arm, pulling her back. She falls against me, all the strength gone from her. I sink to the floor, pulling her with me, settling her in my lap. I cradle her head against my shoulder, my lips tight. I don't say a word; there's nothing to say. I let her cry and I can feel it too, that sickening twist deep down inside that threatens to pull me into the waiting abyss. I want to cry, but I fight it off; the calm before the storm.

She eventually passes out, her body limp against mine, her face contorted by grief even in sleep. I smooth her sweat slicked hair, wishing there was some way I could take her away from this. Some way I could change it all.

The bathroom door stands open and a single bloodied hand print is smeared down its metallic surface. Her blood. My blood. Our child. I take a deep breath, not wanting it to come, but I can't fight it any longer, so I give in. I hold her and I cry.

Such a simple thing—over before it even began.


End file.
